


Decadence

by IroncladValkyrie



Category: Hellsing
Genre: F/M, Kind of... I guess, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 18:21:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15563727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IroncladValkyrie/pseuds/IroncladValkyrie
Summary: Silence cuts deeper than any knife.Decadence, if I can't be yours.





	Decadence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eiserne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eiserne/gifts).



> For my dearest Eiserne, very late, but here. Because you are one the the loveliest, kindest people I have yet to meet.  
> Thank you for everything, cannot wait to meet again in person. Soon :)
> 
> Partially inspired by Mejibray's song DECADANCE- Counting Goats... If I can't be yours...

The heavy door shut in front of him and he heard the rattling of the keys when she locked the room. He swiftly moved from his position on the floor as soon as her command to walk himself into the cell ceased, and he threw his full weight against the door, gripping the silver bars madly until they burnt through the gloves and his hands blistered.

He only hissed at the pain and smirked, eyes almost coming out of their sockets as he fixated them on her back. His voice came low and ominous, something felt more through the reverberations on your bones than your ears.

"You are not going to seal me like your father and your grandfather did, Integra?”

His Master kept walking so he threw his hook again, 

“Oh, do not tell me you do not have their sadism in you!”

She stopped before reaching the staircase, but, to his disappointment, did not turn. It was only after he heard her footsteps far above ground walking into her office that the grin disappeared from his features, leaving a faint discomfort. Like a dog, he turned around in his spot and sat down. 

For a night, he did nothing. She would come back soon enough, he thought, and get him out of his confinement and boredom.

He refused to sleep, he did not need it either way. When he sensed daylight had arrived, he tried prying into the minds of others in the mansion to see a glimpse of her, but nothing. She or Walter had instructed the staff on how to keep him out, or she had been too recluse to be in their minds. A pity, really. Whatever voyeurism he tended towards was cut off right there, and he found himself sitting in the silence of the cell. 

Within a couple of hours, the noise from the rest of the manor became a distant blending of voices, an unintelligible murmur. 

Another night passed with no word from his Master. He found that the lack of blood was little more than an itch in his throat compared to how her absence picked at his mind. He did not bother pushing himself through the barriers she had brought up around her thoughts; it was only a few hours after all. She had not set a time limit to this, and he assumed that someone eventually would have to bring blood to him and he could surely look into their thoughts to have more information. 

And he was a patient-albeit dead-man. Or it was that same lack of concern about time that gave him said patience. So he would wait. His mind drifted to sweet memories of her, then deeper into his own mind, getting lost in the reverie of images past, in the relieving of triumph and death, everything imbued with her scent. 

He waited, sitting still, for a total of four nights.

He was quite dissatisfied inside when the only one in front of him was the butler, a sarcastic smile on his lips. He threw a blood bag through the bars and left, no words and no response to his questions and prodding, which added another layer of humiliation to his punishment.

He figured that in another four nights there would be contact once more, so he subdued his anger. However, when the expected eight night came, he had no visitors. 

Irritation crept on him. His shadows danced disarrayed on the cell walls, like a desperate animal.

_ How dare she? _

His mind screamed at him, but he would not lower himself to have her hear him. 

How dare she make him suffer so? How dare she ignore how dependent he was on her presence? 

He could only see himself when he looked at her, he would only dare define himself in terms of her reflection. He had been kept in the dark before, a forgotten husk, but it had been nothing compared to this. Why such cruelty, to let him see light just for this…?

_ If I become unable to see you, I’ll disappear. _

Desperation was acid in his arid veins, making dead muscle twitch and twist. He didn’t think he had ever felt this craving, this madness ignited by a person. He thirsted after her like thirsted for blood, like he had once thirsted for conquest and domination.  He had forfeited those decades before, but it all hit him like a wave, only now he wanted to be the one conquered, claimed. Without it, his identity drifted into nothingness.

He thrashed.

He felt the weight of his years in seclusion upon his chest, replacing the brief relief that had been the six years in her presence. He clawed at himself, desperate for touch, desperate for  _ anything _ that would bring him back to himself.

By the eleventh night, the wounds had almost settled.

Lost again in a spiral of remembrances, the vanishing of his restrictions was paradoxically both loud and noiseless, like a pin being dropped in a silent room, but his eyes shot back open at the sensation. Akin to an animal that has spent too long chained to recognize freedom, his reaction was not immediate: he waited for long minutes until he was sure that he was not being tricked and could actually move freely.

His thoughts shifted to his master and found her, not in her office, but in her bedroom. The burning need to see her, mixed with the pain and anger from the seclusion, guided him through the three stories that led to her. 

He didn’t fully materialize until he was inside the room, simply pushed the door open, all red, and darkness, and fury. It slammed shut behind him.

“Good evening, Servant.”

Her voice rose from her form on the bed, propped against pillows, book set aside with deliberate care. She smiled at him, and only he could have caught the lethality of that smile.

He smiled himself, a smile that turned into a crazed smirk before he fell on his knees, forehead to the checkered tile floor. His black hair covered his face, but his form shook with barely-contained laughter. That was only until he started crawling, one knee, one arm at a time, towards her. Painfully slow, painfully constrained for a creature as him, just as deliberate as her own movements had been. He stopped right before he reached the bed and lowered himself once more.

“May I, Master?”

“You may.”

His expression was inconsistent with his pleading words; he showed no repentance, no humility in it, only bliss as he lifted himself, yet remained on his knees. It was with hands almost shaking from want that he took her feet, clad in sheer stockings. 

“My Master, you will be the death of me.”

She laughed deep in her chest, but sighed when he devotedly kissed the tip of her toes, then her ankle. 

Deprivation and indulgence.

Pain and pleasure.

Decadence and rebirth.

He would not have minded playing these games for all eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Because the only way I can withstand Integra torturing him is when it is consented play ;) And because Alucard is a super dramatic sub.  
> Sorry for the similitude to any of my previous fics, I have been on a fanfic writing block, so originality is not my forte at the moment, but I count this as my coming back to my Alutegra origins FINALLY.


End file.
